


Temporary and Vulnerable Things

by AwkwardFortuna



Series: Lovers Left Behind [3]
Category: The Old Guard (Comics), The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Also it’s like 1am, Blow Jobs, Crying, First Time Blow Jobs, Fluff and Angst, I will fix them at a decent hour, I'm not the best at writing smut guys, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Men Crying, Mild Smut, Pining, Romance, Soft boy Copley, Soft boy Sebastian, bear with me here, so plz forgive any errors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:40:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25876036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwkwardFortuna/pseuds/AwkwardFortuna
Summary: "S-slow down Booker," Copley pants, pulling back to breathe before planting a kiss to the middle of his brow. "We've got all the time in the world."Do they? Do they really? Booker has seen civilizations wiped out, cities turned to ash and families destroyed, all in a matter of seconds. Death may take things slowly and painfully but it can also take life so quickly that the body does not know when it is time to stop moving and breathing.'Slow down Booker, we've got all the time in the world.'The man doesn't know how wrong he is.Or, a smutty scene that takes place some time during part 1 of the series(You don't have to read these in order to understand them though.)
Relationships: Booker | Sebastian le Livre & James Copley, Booker | Sebastien le Livre/James Copley
Series: Lovers Left Behind [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1857220
Comments: 3
Kudos: 80





	Temporary and Vulnerable Things

Booker feels like he has been flayed alive. Like his skin has been scraped raw to the point of burning.

Copley’s hands are on him and he feels like an anchor. Like he is the only thing capable of cooling Booker down and tethering him to the moment at hand. Booker melts against him embarrassingly soft like honey. His body is wrapped tightly around Copley’s from head to toe. Heat against heat, mouth against mouth, skin against skin. Copley’s got one hand fisted at the base of his neck and Booker’s doing his goddamn best to please the man, to be worthy of the gift that he’s been given. He's pressing open-mouthed kisses against the crook of Copley's neck with short little gasps of heat and love and confessions mixed between. 

God, it's been so long since he has last held someone in his arms and been wanted in return.

He could die happy like this.

"S-slow down Booker," Copley pants, pulling back to breathe before planting a kiss to the middle of his brow. "We've got all the time in the world."

Do they? Do they really? Booker has seen civilizations wiped out, cities turned to ash and families destroyed, all in a matter of seconds. Death may take things slowly and painfully but it can also take life so quickly that the body does not know when it is time to stop moving and breathing. 

_Slow down Booker, we've got all the time in the world._ The man doesn't know how wrong he is.

The sudden horrible thought of Copley dying, either from old age or as he is now, is enough to make Booker fall to his knees with a broken little hitch that sounds dangerously close to a sob.

Why? Why does he insist on attaching himself to temporary and vulnerable things?

Booker lets his head rest against Copley's stomach and Copley cards his fingers through his hair, cradling his skull in the palm of his hands, gently holding him close.

The wooden floor beneath his knees is cold and painful but Copley is soft and warm. He nuzzles against the standing man's abdomen before mouthing at Copley's belt buckle. Copley lets out a hiss and for a moment, his grip tightens on Booker's hair before letting the strands go slipping through his fingers.

Booker mourns the loss.

"You don't have to-"

"I want to," Booker gasps, perhaps in English, perhaps in French. He's forgotten what language he's meant to be speaking here. He grabs at Copley's hands and brings them back to rest at the cradle of his skull. "S'ill vous plait." 

Copley brushes his hair back before cradling the side of his face, tracing Booker's features with his thumb. Booker brings the digit into his mouth and laps against it, his lips quickly turn flush from the use. 

_"Fuck,"_ Copley gasps at the same time Booker lets out a quiet _"Please?"_

"I-uh, alright. Okay."

Booker undoes the belt buckle with his hands but he pulls the zipper down with his teeth and there- fuck, _there_ is Copley's dick. Purpled and hot, springing to life, begging to be touched. Booker is overwhelmed for a moment. How lucky is he? That he is allowed to do this? That he is allowed to touch?

Copley's hands twitch and maybe he mistakes the awe on Booker's face as fear or hesitance because Copley tries to pull him away by tugging at the strands of his hair but Booker lurches forward and he swallows the man down like he is a sacrament to be taken. A road to salvation.

Copley lets out a shocked little moan. It is so loud in the quiet evening of his office. Booker presses the heel of his palm against his own hard in an attempt to tame it.

He gags a little bit. It can't be helped.

It has been so long, _too long_ since he's done anything remotely like this. Perhaps a drug-filled century or two ago, back when he was in the throes of self-loathing and loss. Regardless, it pales in comparison to the here and the now and the way that Copley is cradling his face as if he were something delicate and soft. Something precious to be held.

It's all so _good_ and he can't help the way that his eyes well up with tears, blurring his vision of the beauty that is James Copley.

"You're amazing," Copley sighs, wiping the stray tears from the corner of Booker's eyes, reverent and endearing. "I don't know what would have become of me if I never met you."

Booker doesn't know either, but he suspects that despite Copley's hurt and mourning, that the man would still be fine. He'd continue, one way or another. Booker on the other hand, well, he'd probably end up dying in a house of debauchery somewhere, drowning in booze and getting high until the next time Andy came by with a job for him. 

_What would become of Copley without Booker?_ He can't be sure, but it is nice to imagine a world where Copley needs Booker just as much as Booker needs Copley.

"I- I _unf_ ," Copley's sentence cuts off into a moan. His grip tightens on Booker's hair, forcing his head up and off of him so that Booker can stare into his eyes unhindered.

"I mean it, Book, I was spiraling before I met you." Copley's voice sounds so wet and vulnerable as if he were on the verge of tears himself. "I was so lost."

He falls to his knees then, like Booker, and kisses his red, puffy, mouth. Licking inside of him, holding him tight and pressed up against him.

He fumbles with Booker's belt before successfully pulling him free. Booker's dick is wet and painfully red, aching for Copley's touch. The man pulls Booker apart at the seams; their dicks sliding together, bodies rocking in tandem with whispers of praise and adoration spoken between them.

It makes Booker's head spin; the way that Copley keeps holding onto him, petting his face and cherishing him as if Booker were somehow deserving of it.

"You are, Book," Copley pants. "You deserve all of this and more."  
  
What a nice thought.

Booker can almost believe it.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first official attempt at something... deliberately smutty. It's not the best out there but I hope it can provide some entertainment for u readers!


End file.
